


ship happens

by mallory



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Cruise Ships, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Mild Sexual Content, Puns & Word Play, Reader Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 17:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18627760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallory/pseuds/mallory
Summary: You and Chris take a well-deserved vacation.





	ship happens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avxngers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avxngers/gifts).



> —who promised to love me for the rest of her life if I wrote: _F!reader in the accident and chris is taking care of her._
> 
> Edited 22/6/19.

“Nineteen people go overboard every year,” you say, lifting your phone to show Chris the article.

“Yeah.” He grabs your arm and pulls you to walk between him and the superstructure. “Stay away from the railing.”

“In 2016, there were sixty-two reported sexual assaults on cruise ships. And do you know how many people die, worldwide? Three a week. Some of them from suicides and murders.”

His eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses, and the full beard he’s sporting hides the lower half of his face, but there’s a hint of amusement in the way his obscured lips twitch and his forehead crinkles. “Are you implying you’re going to kill me? That’s a gruesome way to spend our vacation.”

“Well, if it’s comforting for you to know, they’re legally required to have morgues. Your family can get your body back fresh and in one piece.”

He snorts out a laugh, and Kyle, the ship attendant who’s leading the way to your penthouse, glances back with a polite smile.

You draw to Chris’ side and hook an arm around his. Even with the rumbles of the luggage cart rolling along the wooden deck and the grumbling of the ship engine, you lower your voice. “Think he’s ever had to shove a corpse in one?”

“Are you kidding?” he murmurs back. “Did you see those haunted eyes?”

You bury your face into his bicep to hide your laugh, getting a lungful of tobacco and the white musk of his fabric softener.

The late afternoon LA sun glints off the ports, and you slow your pace long enough to peek inside. There’s nothing glamorous, just what appears to be a storage area, which makes sense since you’re walking along the staff end of the ship.

You turn back to your phone for the next tidbit. “Fifteen hundred _thousand_ gallons of sewage is pumped into the ocean per week. One cruise ship caught on fire and lost power—for five days sewage ran down the walls and floor—Hey!”

Your phone in his hand, Chris waves it with a shake of his head and pockets it. “Why are you reading about the morbidity of cruise ships when we’re minutes from sailing away from dry land and civilization?”

“I was curious?”

He laughs. “You couldn’t have been curious five minutes before we bought the tickets?”

You tug his arm against you, where you hold the firm hunk of muscle against the softness of your chest. “I was just excited to have you all to myself for a month.” You’ll be sailing to Papeete for two weeks, porting at various islands along the way such as Nuku Hiva and Bora Bora. You’ll then spend another two weeks in Tahiti before flying back to LA.

“I’m excited too.” He leans in for a sweet kiss. “As much as work’s been crazy fun, I’m glad all the hoopla is over. I deserve some R&R with my favourite girl.”

You hum and pull him into another kiss, only to jump back at the obnoxious foghorn that blasts through the air. The ship howls and groans, as if stretching for its long journey ahead, and the scenic wharf begins to creep back as the ship chugs along.

He chuckles. “No backing out now.”

Reaching the back of the ship, the attendant leads you through a door into the superstructure, which leads to a small area with an elevator marked ‘Staff Use Only’. He slides his red card through the slot in the black box on the wall, and the elevator doors ping open. He gestures with a grand arm. “Mr. Evans, Ms. [Last Name].”

“Thanks, Kyle,” Chris says.

The elevator takes you up to Deck 11, where you’ll be staying in a penthouse suite for the next two weeks. There are sixty-two suites on this deck, the distance between each suite door suggesting its grande size. As you reach the middle of the deck however, the distance between four rooms in particular are much noticeably longer. Kyle unlocks room 11028 with a white key card. “Where would you like your bags, sir?”

“Ah, I’ll take ’em.”

“Very good.”

Chris sets the three bags just inside the door and shakes hand with the man, a crisp note between them. “Thanks.”

“Enjoy your stay, and please call if you need anything.”

Chris wouldn’t tell you the price of the penthouse suite, much less let you see the images or amenities on their website, so as you step in, your jaw literally drops.

“Holy fucking—” You choke on the rest of your words because _damn_. It’s as big as a full-sized apartment. Eyes wide enough to fall out, you whirl around to Chris, who laughs.

“Go look around, I’ll put these in the room.”

You roam [the penthouse](https://www.crystalcruises.com/images/default-source/ships/room-diagrams/ocy-suite-diagram-crystal_penthouse_cp.jpg) and marvel at the décor in the two seating areas, separated only by a decorative wooden room divider. You pick up a box on the coffee table sitting beside menus, information booklets and a vase of flowers. Chocolate truffles.

You pull back the soft, lightweight curtains to shed more light into the suite and step through the dining area, peaking out at the small, private veranda that overlooks the ocean, and to the master bedroom where Chris is opening the suitcases on the queen-sized bed in the middle of the room.

“This is so decadent,” you say.

“You haven’t seen the Jacuzzi.” He grins, jerking his head behind him in the direction of the en suite opposite the vanity table and adjacent to the walk-in closet.

“How much _did_ you pay for this cruise?”

Chris rounds the bed and gathers you in his arms. “The only thing I want you to worry about”—He ducks down to press a kiss to the side of your neck—“is remembering to put on sunscreen every two hours.” Lips trail across your cheeks as his hands begin a slow roam of your body.

You clutch his sides and shudder against him. “What if I want you to put it on me?”

He smirks. “That can be arranged.”

A musical ding sounds from the plasma screen across from the bed. A voice introduces himself as the Captain and welcomes the guests on board. As he addresses various safety and emergency instructions, you get to unpacking your bags into the closet and en suite.

With the last of it tucked away and the empty luggage placed on the overhead shelf, Chris collapses on the soft, pliable bed, and you make your way to the window, where the late afternoon sun pours in through the soft, lightweight curtains. You part it as a flock of seagulls fly by cawing and squawking.

A camera click sounds behind you.

Chris grins down at his phone. “Beautiful.”

Shaking your head, you join him on the bed, reaching into your pocket for your own phone, only to grab onto nothing. “Can I have my phone back?”

He leans back and onto an elbow and pulls it out. As you reach for it, he holds it at arm’s length. “No more cruise ship facts?”

“Fine. But promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“Don’t make me do the ‘I’m flying’ scene from _Titanic_. I’ll wharf all over you.”

He laughs, hands you the phone and hauls you down beside him. Rolling onto his side, he presses the length of his body along yours. “Okay, but tonight can you whisper, ‘Put your hands on me, Jack’?”

You mirror his position, propping your head on a palm. “Only if I get the door to myself.”

“How about we share the door…” His hand slides down your side to rest on the curve of your hip, where his thumb dips into the waistband of your pants. “And I’ll let you draw me like one of your French boys?”

You laugh. “Deal.”

“Hmm.” He peppers kisses across your cheeks, pulling you firm against his hard body. Nipping your jaw, his touch slides under your shirt, and fingers splay across your bare back. “How about we spent the night exploring the suite…?” Coquettish licks and sneaky fingers suggest doing more than just _exploring_.

You pant, thighs rubbing against each other as your core throbs. “Wha… What about dinner?”

“We can call our personal butler.”

Seriously? Well… in that case: “Let me show you the shower.”

“I’ve already seen the shower.”

You smirk. “Not when I’m in it, wet and naked.”

His mouth crashes against yours, and you swallow his lustful groan.

You spend the rest of the night making yourselves right at home around different parts of the suite, filling it with sounds of laughter and moans. You only stop for dinner when your stomach growls around nine in the midst of round three (or is it four?) as you’re atop his lap in the corner of the sectional couch, the warm tone of the table lamp setting your sweaty skin aglow and splashing your impassioned shadows across the walls.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You’re beautiful.

It’s the first thought Chris has when he opens his eyes to you breathing quietly across the bed, your cheek adorably mushed into the pillow under your head.

It’s been too long since he’s woken up to your sweet, sleeping face, much less going to bed in the same bed with you.

Your mouth twitches, and a deep sigh escapes through your nose.

He shimmies across the bed and snuggles up to you, draping an arm around your waist to pull you close. Nuzzling the top of your head, he closes his eyes as he inhales your scent. A smile stretches across his face as you cuddle into him, your body soft and warm against him. Your leg brushes against his morning erection, and it throbs with the memory of all the debauched things it did to you last night.

How is it possible you spent hours bringing each other to climax and he still craves more? Your taste, the sounds you make, how your body moves against and fits so perfectly with his. You’re so responsive to his touch, and god, the things you do and the way you make him feel—you’re perfect for him.

He can love you for all of time, and he can’t wait until the day that he calls you his wife because you’re already the love of his life.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Soft scratchy kisses trail along your arm. You moan, rolling away from it, only to flinch away from a blinding light that flashes through your closed eyelids.

Chris’ chuckle cuts off as you roll into him, and strong, corded arms encompass your body. “Mmm… Morning, honey.”

You burrow further into his firm, warm chest.

“Time to wake up,” he sings.

You grumble. You don’t know what vacation means to Chris, but it’s for sleeping in after a vigorous, late night of sex.

For the next several minutes, Chris rouses you into consciousness with slow, teasing touches along your naked body. The soft sheets whisper in protest of your increasing restlessness, and damn it, he’s good. _So good_.

You arch your back and clamp your thighs around his hand, a gasp caught in your throat. You open your eyes to bright eyes grinning above you.

“There’s my girl.” He pecks your forehead and smoothes a hand over your hair. “Breakfast?”

You share an array of food in bed, tucked between Chris’ legs as he feeds you. With your head back against his shoulder, you chew on a morsel of watermelon and absently rub your fingers into the muscles of his powerful thighs.

He picks up his cup of coffee and takes a sip. “What do you want to do today?”

“I don’t know. How’s the weather?”

“It’s pretty warm out. Dip in the pool?”

You both take a quick shower to rinse off the sweat and sex on your skin that ends with you on your knees and Chris’ moans bouncing off the walls. After drying off, he rubs sunscreen over your body, as promised. His touch is sensuous and slow, taking his time to appreciate all your curves and soft spots, like a sculptor admiring a masterpiece. He lingers on your chest, cupping and kneading until you laugh.

“I don’t need it there.”

He pushes a lingering kiss to your cheek. “You never know.”

“Save it for the private beach, handsy.”

Hands slide around and a finger slips in between your buttcheeks, and you gasp.

An appropriately cheeky grin lights his face, and you grab his chin to kiss it away.

“Naughty,” you murmur against him.

He chuckles. “You love it.”

When he’s done, it’s your turn to run your hands over the expanse of his toned body. Your sunscreen-greased hands glide across hard ridges and firm muscles. You slap his board short-covered ass. “All done.”

You slip a sundress over your swimsuit and toe into a pair of sandals, and Chris push a NASA cap over his head and hooks a pair of sunglasses over the collar of his t-shirt.

Being stuck on a boat with nine hundred people who could potentially recognise him doesn’t concern Chris because he’s confident his “disguise” will make him blend right in.

It’s cute that he still thinks the simple cap and beard will work, especially when he’s strutting around in that body—he’s bound to turn heads no matter that his face is hidden. It’s only a matter of time until someone recognises him.

You pack a large bag with things you might need during the day. Stepping out into the seating area for the wallet Chris left on the coffee table, you wince at the mess you’ve made. Before you leave, you tap on the panel by the door to request the maid service while you’re out.

With your hands clasped together, you take the elevator up a deck to get to the pool.

About two dozen people in their swimsuits litter in the large rectangular pool and on outdoor couches and lounge chairs that surround it. At the other end of the pool are twin round hot tubs built above ground. The people looking down from the deck above must have an interesting view.

You claim a cushioned lounge chair on one side of the pool, against the wall of blackout glass panels, and pull out a towel to drape over the bag.

Sliding his sunglasses on, Chris reaches for your hand again. “Come on!”

He practically skips to the pool steps, and you squeak as you sink into the chilly blue water, a ripple of goosebumps climbing your body.

“Cold!” You hunch your shoulders and tuck your biceps tight against your sides, the water level reaching your folded elbows.

Chris glides over with a smile. “Let me warm you up.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull yourself against his body with a shudder.

You bop toward the deeper end of the pool, and soon your feet no longer touch the bottom, and you hang weightlessly off him.

“Damn,” he says over your shoulder, turning you both like you’re dancing, and the water swirls, fanning around you like the skirt of a dress. “I knew the ship was huge, but… wow. This is fuckin’ awesome. I like big boats and I cannot lie.”

You laugh, pulling back to grin into your reflection in his sunglasses. “I _sea_ what you did there.”

He smirks. “Water you doing?”

“What, I’m not allowed to have some fun?” You loosen your grip, body adjusting to the temperature of the water. “Don’t be shellfish.”

His hands find your hips to haul you closer, and he tilts his head to kiss you without the bill of his cap stabbing you. “Are we seriously having a pun-off?”

“When inspiration comes in waves, you gotta seas the day.” You grin. “Two in one.”

“I sink that second one was reaching… Two for two.”

Someone swims past you, and your chest brushes pleasantly against Chris’ in the trailing wave. “What was the second?”

“Reaching, it’s a sailing term. Oh babe, I just hope you don’t _harbour_ any resentment when I win this.”

“Oh, _buoy_ , you are so on.” You push away and splash him.

He sputters, droplets dripping off and clinging to his face. With a foreboding laugh, he drags a hand down his mouth and turns his cap backward. “Oh, baby, you’re gonna regret that.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, and your eyes widen as an anxious smile stretches your lips. You shout as he lunges for you, and you’re caught in a flirty game of tag. Though you have the advantage of swimming underwater, he has quick reflexes. You dodge people in the water, and your laughter and yelps draw the attention of some pool goers.

You’re fast approaching a woman, who smiles as she watches the both of you, her gaze snagging on Chris. At the last minute, you change direction to avoid her getting a closer glimpse of him. You lose precious time doing so, and he closes the distance between you.

He grabs you around the waist from behind, crowding you against the pool wall with his slick body. “Gotcha,” he whispers, right against your ear.

You rub against him, humming, and turn in his arms. Water trickles off your arm as you cup his cheek and kiss him, tasting chlorine and sunscreen. “Took you long enough.”

His nose nudges against yours. “You’re a slippery minx.”

You snicker.

“I love you.”

Your chest swells, and you pull his sunglasses off his face for the tender affection softening his eyes.

A musical ding rings over the white noise of rolling waves and the ship’s engine. “Good morning and welcome to the first full day on the cruise! I am your Cruise Director Ricky, and…” He continues on with a list of scheduled activities that will be starting soon, including pool volleyball. Two pool attendants kick everyone out so they can set up the net. Just as well, you’re worn out, and lounging back with a good story sounds amazing. You retreat to the lounge chair and towel yourself off.

“You’re not gonna play?” Chris asks.

“Nah, you play. I’ll do a little reading, maybe watch.”

You reapply sunscreen on each other, and he joins in on the small group of people gathering by the pool. The sun’s moved and casting light on the chair so you move your things to an orange plush couch under a pool umbrella for shade.

You settle in with your phone, scrolling through social media using the cruise’s WiFi. Soon enough, you’re lured into a light nap by the sounds of chatter, splashes, the steady thunk of the volleyball, and occasional cheers and disappointed coos.

The next thing you know, cool, wet drops of water sprinkles onto your heated skin. You peel your eyes open to Chris hovering over you, shaking his hair out and dripping all over your middle. His sunglasses are propped on top of his forward-facing cap.

“Hello, Sleeping Beauty.” He bends over and pecks the tip of your nose as he grabs the towel draped across the back of the couch by your head. “Nice nap?”

You stretch. “What time is it?”

“A little after noon.” He dries his arms, muscles and tattoos bunching and shifting with every movement.

“Let’s get some lunch.” Possibly a drink or two for your parched mouth.

“Um, I’ve been found.” He jerks his chin somewhere behind you. “Some fans are asking for photos.”

Sitting up, you drop your feet to the deck. “Oh.” There’s about five people huddled together, chatting excitedly amongst themselves and glancing in your direction. “Okay, I’ll wait up.”

“Why don’t you go ahead? There are some restaurants that way.” He gestures to the end of the deck opposite of where you walked through this morning. He pats his wet board shorts. “Can’t bring my phone, so I’ll come find you.”

You pull to your feet as he shrugs on his t-shirt. “Want me to order for you?”

“I’d love that, thanks.” He cups the side of your neck and tugs you in for a quick kiss, thumb brushing your cheek. “I’ll be quick, promise.” He staunters toward a small group of people, who all light up under his attention. “All right,” he calls, “who’s first?”

With a private smile, you slip on your dress and gather your things before making your way to the end of the deck.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Chris approaches the group of people with a broad smile.

“Who’s that woman?” one of the men asks, and Chris glances over his shoulder at your retreating back with a pang of guilt.

Even though you’re okay with this, it still doesn’t feel right leaving you. This trip is supposed to make up for neglecting you for months on end because of work obligations. It’s not even twelve hours and he’s already ditched you to cozy up with fans.

He better hurry this up. The quicker this is done, the quicker he’ll be back with his arms around you, cracking dumb jokes to hear your laugh and canoodling like nobody’s watching.

He turns back to them and clears his throat. “She’s my girl.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You find a table at a kitchen and bar with a glass roof and white awnings that further brighten the place. Giant tree planters and a vertical garden wall separates the casual bar area with the dining side that hosts dinner. You get comfortable on the fabric-covered patio chair and peruse the menu.

A man approaches your table in a white apron. He looks eerily similar to a young Leonardo DiCaprio with his floppy blond hair, flawless boy-next-door features and enchanting blue eyes that turn down at the corners with his crooked smile. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Would you like something from the bar?”

You order a drink for yourself. “And a bud light for my boyfriend.”

“Of course.”

By the time he comes back, you’re ready to order food. Hopefully Chris’ll be here before his meal arrives.

He isn’t, and you wait politely for all of five minutes before digging into your food, the smell too tempting.

Your drink is empty when Leo appears again to offer another round. “Sure, thanks.”

“Will your boyfriend be joining you soon?”

“Um… I don’t know. He’s a little tied up out by the pool.” You wipe your mouth with the cloth napkin. “Do I look that pathetic all by myself?”

He laughs, a sweet breathy sound. “Not at all, miss. It just seems a shame that a pretty woman like you is dining alone.”

You smile. He’s certainly putting on the charm. “I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”

“You let me know if you want me to go out and find him.” He winks. “I’ll be back with your drink shortly.”

You chuckle to yourself.

By the time you’re halfway done with your meal, Leo’s back. “How are you enjoying your meal?”

“It’s yummy, thank you.”

His eyes stray pointedly to the untouched Chow Mein and Bud Light. “And the boyfriend?”

“Still not here yet.”

“All right, what does he look like?”

Chris Evans.

How would Leo react, upon seeing him? Would he be the type of stutter over his words, too starstruck to remember what it was, exactly, he was there for? How would _Chris_ take to a strange man calling him out for being an absent boyfriend? Your heart clenches. He’d feel so guilty.

Chris so badly wanted to get away and spend some quality time with you. With his status being what it is, it’s almost impossible to go out and not have at least one person notice him. It was daring of him to suggest going on a cruise—is daring the right word? More like crazy. Stranded on the ship for days at a time, he can’t hide anywhere but your suite, and he’d hate being trapped inside for two weeks.

“Miss?” The humour on his face is replaced with concern. “Are you okay?”

You force a smile. “I’m fine.” You point to your food. “It’s really good.”

“I’ll, um, leave you to it then.”

It’s 2:21 PM by the time Chris finds you. He plops into the seat beside you with a contrite look. “I’m so sorry. Word must’ve gotten around because more people kept coming by for pictures.”

You set your phone down. “It’s okay.”

He frowns. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” you say on a laugh. “I understand it must be exciting running into a celebrity.” You reach out and squeeze his hand. “That’s what I love about you. You’re so generous and gracious with them.”

He brings your hand to his lips and kisses the back of your fingers. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Your dick of a boyfriend made you wait on him for three hours, and instead of yelling at him like he so rightfully deserves, you’re praising him. You’re a wonderful, patient woman to put up with me.”

Your cheeks are hot, and a giddiness bubbles up inside of you. You tense your muscles so you don’t do something stupid like flail around. “Leo seems to think the same.”

A crease appears between his brows. “Who’s Leo?”

“The waiter. I’ve been calling him Leo in my head because he looks like Leo DiCaprio did in _Titanic_ —Whoa, I just realised what a weird coincidence that is.”

“Was he keeping you company?”

“Every now and then. He’s just doing his job.”

A full frown weighs on his face. “At least you weren’t alone the whole time.”

“Baby, it’s okay.” You rub his arm. “Really. I promise.” His expression doesn’t change, and you let out an amused, exasperated laugh. “Come here.”

He leans forward and you cup his face for a sweet kiss. You start to pull away when he steals another quick peck, drawing a chuckle, and a smile crinkles his eyes.

One hand lingers to stroke his beard as the other props your chin. “Better?”

“I’ll feel better when I make it up to you.” He glances down at the table, at your empty plate and his cold noodles. “Looks good.”

“Hope it tastes good.” You reach for your drink, and he does the same, taking several chugs of his beer.

He twists around to flag down a waiter nearby. “Maybe they can heat it up for me.”

The man insists on bringing Chris a fresh dish, and after they take the plate away, you shift your chair closer to him. “So how was it? The impromptu photo op.”

Chris regales anecdotes on the funny, kind or interesting things his fans said. His face is animated, nose scrunching and eyes sparkling; it’s clear that he takes to heart their support and stories about how he changed their lives during his portrayal of Captain America. When he gets to the kids—god, you just melt when he clasps your hand, a wistful note in his voice even as he speaks as if they were his own.

“This little girl, Lydia”—he twirls some noodles around his fork—“she said her little brother is stuck in the room all day because he’s sick, and she felt bad because Captain America is his second favourite superhero.” He’s enunciating incredibly well with that grin spread so wide.

You laugh. “Who’s his first?”

“Wonder Woman. But she can fly and has the lasso of truth, so I let it slide.” He takes a bite, and after swallowing, he sighs. “I want kids. Imagine a perfect little girl, just like you.”

You shake your head. “When we have kids, I want them to be exactly like you.”

He holds out a pinkie. “Halfsies?”

Laughing, you hook your own around it.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

After he finishes his lunch and while you’re in the bathroom, Chris arranges a surprise back at the suite before seeking out ‘Leo’ (whose actual name is Ethan). He gives him a hefty tip and thanks him for treating you well. Ethan seems a little starstruck, and Chris bids him a goodbye before he can recover and potentially start another commotion.

You head back to your suite, intending on a shower and change of clothes. As you walk down the deserted hallway on Deck 11, Chris holds your joined hands above your head, smiling as you giggle and spin.

For what feels like the hundredth time today, Ricky over the PA system announces another list of scheduled activities starting soon.

“Ooh, how about Hollywood Theatre?” you ask.

“Maybe.” Reaching your room, he swipes the keycard. The messy state of the room you left it in is now tidy. He lets go of your hand. “Babe, could you check the sitting area? I think I left my phone charger there last night.”

You heard toward the bedroom on the right. “I saw it before we went to bed, it’s in here.”

He hurries after you. “No, I brought it out before we left.”

“Why?” You stop at the foot of the bed and turn to him.

Shit, think fast. His gaze darts around the room. “Mom called, and I was charging my phone. I didn’t want to wake you so I brought it out there.” He flashes a smile. “Please? I’ll unpack this.” He puts the bag on the bed.

“Okay.”

“Thank you!” he calls after your retreating back. Holding his breath, he steps out of the bedroom.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

“Hello.”

You scream and jump back.

The woman in the middle of the seating area smiles apologetically.

“Oh my god,” you say. “I’m sorry, you scared me.”

“My apologies, Ms. [Last Name]. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

At the sound of fast-approaching footsteps behind you, you whirl around just in time to smack Chris on his chest. “Did you do this?”

He chuckles. “Not to be mean, I swear. I wanted to surprise you—she’s a masseuse.”

It’s then you see the massage table in the middle of the room.

Chris preses a kiss to your forehead. “Enjoy, okay? Jen, make sure you get her tush. It’s sore.”

You swat at him. “Go away.”

His laugh trails after him to the bedroom.

Approaching the table, you force yourself to meet Jen’s gaze. “It’s nothing… sexual. I was waiting for him at lunch.”

A polite smile etches her face, and she inclines her head. “Would you like to undress and get comfortable on the table? Call for me when you’re done, I’ll be in the next room.”

An hour later, you sway into the bedroom on heavy feet, a dreamy smile etched on your face. That was amazingly muscle-melting. The oil she poured on you smelled so good—like peace—and heated as she rubbed you down. God, her hands were heaven, working kinks you didn’t even know were there.

On the bed, Chris has showered and trimmed his beard, dressed in a sweater and some slacks. He tucks his phone away with a smile. “It was good, then?”

You collapse face first beside him. “Amazing,” you say into the fluffy pillow.

“I’m glad.” He cups the back of your head. “You wanna grab a shower and head back out for that movie?”

You moan, rolling onto your back, and adjust the robe she gave you before she left. “Can’t do anything, ’m a boneless puddle.”

He laughs, tugging on the belt. “I’ll grab a bucket and scoop you in, carry you around.” Another yank on the belt undoes the knot. “Babe, come on. We’re burning daylight.”

With a sigh, you drag yourself out of bed and into the shower. You wash off the oil, sunscreen and chlorine, and put on an evening outfit, since you won’t be returning to the cabin until late tonight.

“Babe!” Chris shouts. “Dolphins!”

The veranda door is open, the wind carrying in the smell of ocean water and tobacco and the roaring sounds of the ship driving through water.

Chris is leaning over the banister, the only thing anchoring him is a hand half-gripping the handrail because he’s holding a lit cigarette between his fingers. Heart in your throat, you grab the waistline of his pants and pull. “Careful!”

His gaze darts to you, a grin bright on his face. “Dolphins,” he says over the distinct nasal giggles. “Look.” He hooks an arm around your shoulders and urges you forward.

Rolling waves splashes against the side of the ship. Long and grey figures speed alongside underwater, too many to count. A dolphin or two leap through the air at a time, leaving behind streaks of white as they break through the surface of the water.

“Do you have your phone?”

You take it out and film a short video as he hugs you from behind, hand clasped on your shoulder and holding you against his steady strength. Your hands shake as you clutch your phone, held over the edge.

“Aw, look at that little one.” Chris points. You pull his hand back in case he drops the cigarette still in hand, and they speed ahead. “Bye,” he shouts, and you laugh, falling back into him.

“Look at the view.” The sky has never been bluer, and the white fluffs of clouds somehow seem both closer and further away the longer you stare at them.

He stamps out his cigarette in the ashtray on the patio table. “Imagine the stars out here without all the city lights.”

“Can we do that tonight?” You spin in his embrace and smooth back his wind-swept hair. “After dinner?”

“It’s a date.” He seals it with a kiss.

Deck 6 is full of people, it’s also the deck that hosts the main supply of entertainment, from a nightclub to a connoisseur club, a casino to a piano bar, and there are ping pong tables and golf driving nets, the last of which Chris wants to try sometime during the trip.

On your way to Hollywood Theatre, he points out a digital poster advertising a Broadway-style production in the Galaxy Lounge, which happens to have a pre-dinner show. It’s a fun two hours full of animated musical numbers and dazzling lights, and Chris buzzes with energy in the seat beside you, head bobbing along and fingers tapping the back of your hand where it rests on the armrest between you.

After the show, you head up a deck to a specialty dining restaurant that Chris made reservations for earlier. The fancy restaurant is accented with earth tones, and the maître d’ leads you to a half-booth table. There are two place settings, each with three wine glasses of various sizes.

You point to them as you settle in the booth. “Why—?”

Chris shrugs. “Dunno.”

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You’re absolutely glowing.

There’s a projector wall lighting up a collage of vintage photos behind you, and on the ceiling is a constellation of little lights, and the warm hues does something amazing to your skin.

Chris can’t take his eyes off you, even as the sommelier offers her services. The social etiquette his mother instilled in him is screaming at him to look her in the eye as he asks for a sample of the house wine. But he’s obsessed with the confused crease between your brows as you peruse the wine list, the pink tongue that peeks out between those soft lips, the way your chest rises and falls with every breath.

As the sommelier promises to come back, you smile at her, and his heart loves the view.

Your eyes meet his, and your smile softens. “What’re you looking at?” you ask, your tone gentle and playful.

“You,” he murmurs.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

After a quick stop in the ladies’ room, you find Chris standing out the front of the restaurant. He’s holding your purse and jacket, and studying an ad poster. He looks so… domesticated. It doesn’t help that he’s wearing a preppy grey sweater.

All that’s missing is the dad bod and a kid hanging off his arm.

He spots you with a smile and you meet him halfway. “We should check out their shopping arcade one day, see if we can find a souvenir.” He tilts his head. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” _Just overwhelmed by the thought of a little boy or girl with your smile looking adoringly up at you the way I am no doubt doing right now—no big deal._

His eyes crinkle with a smile. “Stars?”

You throw an arm around each other and make your way to the staircase that leads you to the elevator banks. Just before you reach it, a little Iranian girl, about eight or nine, waves in your direction. “Mr. Chris!”

Chris laughs, waving back. “Lydia!”

She tugs on her father’s hand, hauling with all her might, but he doesn’t budge, even though it seemed they were going in the same direction you are. She whips her head around as her father says something, the glasses that takes up half her face slipping down her button nose. Her face contorts as her bottom lip quivers.

Chris puts a hand to the small of your back. “Come on.” As you approach them, her father looks apologetic. “Hi, Lydia.” He kneels, but the man’s unrelenting grip on her hand prevents her from launching herself into his arms. What results is an awkward half hug. “How’s your brother doing?”

“Mommy’s staying with him, but he really wanted to come out. I told him all about you last night, and he wants to show you his PJs!”

“Really, now?”

“This is my dad.”

Chris pulls to his feet and holds out a hand. “Hi, Chris—it’s good to meet you. I met your wife yesterday.”

“Yes, I heard.” The man nods deeply. “I’m Arief, very nice to meet you.” He holds out a hand for you to shake, and you offer your own name. “I’m very sorry my daughter disturbed you.”

“Oh, not at all.” Chris chuckles. “Are you kidding? She’s amazing.”

Lydia jumps onto the toes of her purple flats. “Baba, can Mr. Chris come to the hospital to see Isaac?”

“No, no.” Arief chuckles nervously, and your heart clenches as her face falls. “Lyddy, that’s highly inappropriate. Mr. Chris is on holiday.”

“He’d love to go,” you say, the same time Chris says, “Maybe next time?”

He looks at you in surprise, and you squeeze his arm. “It’s okay.”

Chris smiles at the pair. “Sorry, could you excuse us for a moment?” He guides you away from them, along the banister that overlooks the elevator bank. “We were going to look at the stars.”

“We can still do that. It’s not a big deal.”

He raises his brows. “Was that a pun?”

You blink.

With a chuckle, he says, “Knot, not.”

“Oh. Does it count if it’s unintentional?”

“Half a point, but only because you’re cute and I love you.”

You rub a hand across his chest. “The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll come back to me. Do your thing.” The corner of your mouth quirks. “Ask him who’d win in a fight: Wonder Woman or Captain America.”

“Always.” He kisses you. “I’ll catch up as soon as I can. Don’t go overboard with the pics.” He winks, and with a final kiss to your cheek, he throws his arms up with great enthusiasm. “Where’s Isaac staying?”

They get into an elevator going down, and the doors close on Chris and Lydia laughing.

You hop in your own elevator to take you up. The moment you step out on Deck 13, the ocean breeze smothers your face and leaves you breathless. But it’s nothing compared to the way the night sky steals the air right from you.

You brought the suite’s complimentary binoculars, but god. You don’t need it. The sky is lit up by millions of twinkling stars. Your fingers itch to take a photo, but you resist because whatever you’d capture would be such a shameful counterfeit of this absolute force of magnificence.

There’s a group of people along the head of the ship who have the same idea, reclined back in the lounge chairs. You find an unoccupied one and lie back.

It’s like sitting back in a museum planetarium, but so much more beautiful and _real_. You reach out a hand, and for a second, you swear the stars swirl around your fingers, like sprinkles in your hot chocolate.

The soothing sway of the ship and lullaby of the deep, rumbling waves and murmurs from your company weigh heavy on your eyes.

“Nature’s insane,” the man beside you says, pure amazement in his voice.

What’s insane is all the sequence of events that’s led you to this, right here. You feel so small, and it’s moments like these you’re reminded of just how grand the world is. You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t met Chris in a chance encounter all those years ago. If you hadn’t made a dumb joke that made him laugh so hard. If you weren’t so overwhelmed by how gorgeous and carfree he looked with his nose scrunched that you blurted out if he’d like to have a coffee one day. If he wasn’t insane enough to agree, if you didn’t spend the whole date talking until the cafe kicked you out at closing, if he didn’t drive you home like a true gentleman and text you five minutes after dropping you off that he thought he was a little bit in love with you.

You swallow through the lump in your throat. Everything inside of you yearns for his warmth to be cuddled up in this lounge with you right now. You’re about to pull out your phone when the PA system crackles, but instead of Ricky’s upbeat announcement, the Captain’s stern but calming voice bleeds through the speakers.

“Attention staff and guests. We are getting reports of a storm nearby and in the process of adjusting the ship’s course to avoid it, but there will be rough seas ahead. For your safety, all passengers are encouraged to evacuate the outdoor decks and remain inside until further notice. Parents are encouraged to be more vigilant of their children. There’s no need for panic. Please take care moving around the ship, thank you.”

Alarmed murmurs clash with the roaring of the ocean—the sound now ominous and wild. You gather your things and follow the people hustling toward the three elevators, a trail of small recessed light fixtures along the wooden boards illuminating hurried legs.

There must be at least forty people up here; there’s no way all of you can fit in the three elevators at once, especially if they’re being used on the lower decks. Your heart sinks. You’re toward the back of the crowd. You’ll be out here for a while.

But there’s no need to panic, like the Captain said. Plus it’s not like you’re approaching the storm anytime soon, right? How long did he say you had?

The middle elevator pings, and the first dozen people pour in, unease and relief on their faces as they stare out at the rest of you.

One man thwarts the doors’ attempts to close as he tries to slip in, but it’s already packed.

“Stop that,” someone says, his voice deep and commanding.

“Let them go.”

Someone yanks him back. “Hey!”

“Back of the line for you.”

“Stop pushing!”

“Mommy,” a kid whimpers. “I’m scared.”

The disgruntled man stumbles out of the crowd, but it’s hard to distinguish any of his features back here.

Another elevator pings, and a man in the front steps aside and waves the first few people in. “No running or pushing, or you’ll be sent to the back.” It’s the same commanding voice from earlier. He’s not wearing any of the cruise’s staff uniform, nor does he hold a military bearing.

Your limbs are numb with fear, and your heart’s thumping so hard, it takes a few seconds to notice your phone is buzzing. You pull it out—it’s a call from Chris via WiFi. “Chris?”

His disjointed voice comes through. “—oo—lo?”

“Hello?” You turn, pacing away from everyone and covering your other ear. “Chris, can you hear me?”

“—ee—keh… ay—”

“Chris, I can’t—”

The call cuts, and a ball of frustration lodges in your throat. You press the phone to your chest and breathe shakily, almost jumping as it buzzes again.

MESSAGES                            now

 **Chris 💙**  
Safe?

You type out, **Out on top deck waiting for elevator. You?** and hit send, but the status bar on top gets stuck halfway through. The WiFi signal is on two bars. Clenching your jaw, you hold the phone above your head, moving toward the crowd.

The elevators ping, the crowd shuffles forward.

Stomping behind you.

A grip on your left shoulder.

A push.

You stumble, arms flailing.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

Chris never should’ve left you.

Heart pounding so hard he might throw up, he races down the hallway toward your suite.

He yanks out his room card and fumbles for the slot. His hands are shaking. Shit.

_Deep breath, Chris. She’s okay._

The doc said you sprained your wrist. It never would have happened if he’d been there like he was supposed to be. He shouldn’t have listened to you—not that he’s blaming you. He’d never blame you.

With the door unlocked, he bursts into the room.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

You wince, digging your toes into the short fibres of the carpet as Doctor Flores pushes down the edge of the red tape she’d wrapped around your right wrist.

She glances at you. “Too tight?”

“No, it’s good.” You place the ice pack over it.

Ricky steps forward. The toe of his shoe knocks into the end of the sectional couch you’re seated on, his hands clasped in front of his neatly-pressed suit. “I’m terribly sorry that—”

A commotion near the door cuts him off, and Chris calls your name, worry pitching his voice.

You lean forward. “In the seating room.”

He steps into the room, and you barely get a glimpse of his furrowed brows and down-turned mouth before Ricky swoops in. He holds out a hand and introduces himself, all diplomatic smiles and apologies.

It’s clear Chris isn’t listening; his wide eyes are steadfast on you. You smile at him, but instead of easing his anxiety, something like guilt twists his face.

Ricky’s in the middle of offering a complimentary bottle of wine when Chris stops him with a gravelly, “Yes, thank you.” He clears his throat and spares him a glance. “If you don’t mind, could you give us a moment?”

Ricky almost bows. “Of course, of course.” He gestures with two fingers. “Ashley?”

Doctor Flores picks up her bag, but Chris stops her before she passes him. “It’s mild,” she says, voice soothing, “and she’ll be recovering anywhere from two to five days. There’s some swelling, and I’ve given her something to help relieve the pain.” She hands over a card. “My extension, if you need me.”

“Thank you.” He squeezes her shoulder.

She casts a look at you, an empathetic smile on her kind face. “Keep that wrist elevated tonight.”

The suite door clicks shut, and Chris draws close, gaze stuck on your arm propped on the throw pillows. He takes a seat on the foot rest where Doctor Flores sat as she treated your injury. There must be a storm of thoughts and emotions swirling in that head of his, and if you don’t distract him now he’s going to spiral deeper into guilt.

You poke his knee, and he jerks. “Could you get me some water? I’m a little thir—”

He vaults to his feet. “Yes, of course. Whatever you need. Anything else? Are you hungry? Cold? I could grab a blanket—”

“Just the water, thanks.” You smile.

He hurries back with a bottle of water, which he uncaps for you. He brackets your legs with his own, leaning forward and watching you intently.

You take a slow sip and hand it back. “Actually, there’s one more thing you can do.” You hold out your left fist. “Hold this for me?”

“Sure.” He opens his hand, and you slide your fingers between his, pushing your palms together. He blinks at you.

“Relax,” you say on a laugh. “You’re bumming me out.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, placing a kiss to the back of your hand.

You frown, holding his hand in your lap and squeezing it. “Hey. Ship happens.”

The corner of his mouth quirks, and you bite your lip to contain your smile.

The ship shudders, and he braces you.

“Whoa. You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me take you to bed before you fall off the couch.” He pulls you to your feet and sweeps you into his arms.

You laugh, cradling your wrist against your chest. “I can walk.”

Arms secure around you as he holds you to his chest, he kisses the side of your head. “I know you can.” In the bedroom, he sets you on the edge of the bed and gets to work propping pillows for you to recline against and rest your arm along. His thumb runs along the edge of the tape. “Does it hurt?”

“Like a motor-boating bitch.”

He shakes his head. “You’re krilling me.”

You laugh.

He runs his lips along the skin beside the tape. “Does it really?”

“Not too much.” It’s almost numb from the ice, and the painkillers have kicked in.

He sighs, warm breath puffing against your arm. “What happened?”

The agitated man who was pushed to the back of the crowd decided he’d had enough and tried to bulldoze his way in. He didn’t even make it far, tripping over your feet after knocking you down. The man who appointed himself in charge let you get in the elevator and instructed someone to call the emergency line. Turns out he’s a retired firefighter from Canada, his community raising enough money for this cruise as a thank you for his thirty year service.

You run your fingers through his hair. “It’s not important.”

“I should’ve been there.”

“Come here.” You hold out your arm, and he cuddles your left side. You kiss his forehead. “Don’t do that. You didn’t know.”

His brows crease. “I look at you, and all I want to do is to protect you and make you happy.”

“Who says you don’t? I feel so safe with you, and you have no idea how happy I am you’re in my life.”

“I hate that I wasn’t there.”

“I know, baby.”

“I hate that you’re hurt,” he mutters, shoving his face into the side of your neck.

You chuckle. “I know.”

He pulls back. “Are you comfortable?” He adjusts fluffs the pillows at your back and arranges the blankets further up your lap.

“I’m good, Chris. Just lay with me, please?”

He returns to your side, and you cuddle up to him, nuzzling your face into the warm space between his neck and shoulder.

You fall asleep to his soothing strokes up and down your back.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

It’s late.

Chris can smell it in the air, feel it weighing on his eyes.

Thankfully, you passed out a couple hours ago. You’re draped over him, cheek pressed against his chest and leg thrown between his, with your injured wrist propped beside his left bicep.

But he can’t fall asleep.

The reasons are threefold:

  1. He has to ice your ankle twenty minutes at a time
  2. The ship keeps rocking and he’s keeping an ear out for the updates every half hour through the TV speakers
  3. He needs this—



You murmur, lurching softly, and he curls his arm around you tighter.

He just needs to hold you a little longer.

 

**_~ &~_ **

 

There’s a bruise on the side of your right buttcheek. You grimace into the bathroom mirror as you poke it.

Your wrist bore most of the brunt, but you landed on your hip pretty hard. Though you don’t really feel the bruise unless you touch it, the raw throbs emanating your wrist is a constant since you woke up two hours ago.

You weren’t hungry, but you shovelled down food so you could take another painkiller to ease some of the pain.

Chris steps into the bathroom with a broad grin. “Shower time!”

“Don’t sound so excited,” you say dryly as he eats up the distance between you.

His grin turns lecherous as his hands roam your naked body. “It’s all hands on deck.”

You wrap an arm around him, keeping your injured wrist between you. “You don’t suppose we could get Leo to scrub me down?”

Chris growls, pulling you tighter against him. “No. He’s busy.”

“Oh?” You laugh.

He pinches your nose. “No more talking.” He pecks your lips and takes a step back to undress. He takes off his sweater the way men do; grabbing the back of the collar and pulling it over his head, and it’s just so sexy that you’re tempted to tell him to put it back on just so he can take it off again.

Instead, you step into the large glass shower and turn it on. Warm water rains down from the ceiling shower head, and you moan as they strike your skin.

“Jesus,” Chris hisses, hopping out of his jeans. “Wait for me!”

You laugh. “Hurry up, slowpoke.”

After shimmying out of his boxer briefs (which provided you with a hilarious view), his spectacular frame steps into the steaming shower. He shoves his head under the spray and pulls back with a whip of his head, dragging a hand down his face.

You take out your soap in the wall niche that runs along the length of the shower, but he snatches it from you. “Allow me.”

He turns the water off and begins soaping you up. His big hands glide sensuously across your wet skin, careful not to get any suds around your right hand.

The third time they pass over your chest, you laugh. “Chris, I think they’re clean enough.”

“Mm… no, I missed a spot here.” He thumbs the inner swell of your left boob.

“Are you going to make this joke every day?”

“You just concentrate on keeping that wrist out of the way.” He moves on to the lower half of your body, where he presses a kiss to your right hip, beside your bruise. “Lift.” He taps your left ankle and runs soapy fingers through your toes.

You giggle, bracing your left hand on his shoulder. “That tickles.”

He flashes a quick grin up at you and switches to the other foot.

You wiggle your toes, and he squeezes your calf before rising.

He steals a kiss, and your body tingles as it slides against his. His length is trapped between you, and he groans, holding you firm. “Don’t start anything you can’t finish, baby.”

“Who said I couldn’t finish it?”

“I’d love to, but I don’t want you slipping and falling in here.”

You pout. You’ve had shower sex before, multiple times in one much smaller and thus tricker to move in than this.

He gives you a soft, apologetic kiss. “I’ll let you do anything you want to me in bed, all right?” He takes the detachable shower head from the wall-mount beside him. As he rinses you off, his touch is less seductive but more tender. He’s quiet as he focuses on getting you clean. You try to distract him by thumbing his nipple and trailing a finger down his navel until he grasps your hand, kisses it and returns it to your side.

You sigh. You can’t have any fun.

He’s rinsing your back now, his kneading fingers pulling breathy moans. He presses his mouth against the back of your head to hide his yawn.

Poor baby didn’t get enough sleep last night—you knew because you woke up to his snoring this morning. These snores are usually reserved for travel-weary nights and nights before a big event.

“What do you want to do today?” he asks. “I’m thinking something low-key. Maybe we can take a class?”

Your head falls back to his shoulder, and you blink up at the ceiling spray. “How about a nap?”

“We just woke up.”

You shrug, turning to take the shower head from him and hosing down the suds you left on him. “I’m tired.”

He frowns in concern. “Do you want me to call Doctor Flores?”

“No, it’s fine. I just didn’t sleep well last night.” You actually slept amazingly well—Chris makes a comfy cushioned furnace. The ship could have capsized and rolled right back up and you wouldn’t have known.

“I’ll make you some tea.” He turns the water off, and pulls down a robe slung over the top of the glass wall and helps you into it. “Go back to bed. I’ll be two more minutes in here and then I’ll boil some water.”

“You shower, I’ll make the tea.”

“No, no.” He supports your hand as you step out. “Leave it all to me.”

It takes two seconds sitting on the edge of the bed for you to feel stupid, so you shuffle into the kitchen and prepare the tea. The kettle’s starting to whistle when a sound behind you makes you turn.

Chris stands there, towel perched dangerously low around his waist, beads of water rolling down his bare chest and arms, and a disapproving expression drenching his face. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You smile sheepishly, hiking your shoulders up. “Um… making tea?”

“Don’t be cute with me, missy. You’re not allowed to do anything until that wrist is good and healed. Now get back to bed.”

You roll your eyes. “Shall I walk or would you like to carry me there?” He walks toward you, and a disbelieving laugh tears out of you as you throw your hands up. “I was being sarcastic!”

He simply swats your left buttcheek before pouring the water into the mug. “Go, before I haul you over my shoulder.”

You huff. “Fine.” Before you leave, you spank his own ass, hand bouncing off his impressively firm curve with a muted _thump_. With a giggle, you high-tail it out of there before he can retaliate and make good on his promise.

You’ve discarded the robe, and are settled in bed under the blankets when he comes in and hands you the mug.

“Careful, it’s hot.” He disappears into the walk-in closet and comes out dry and in a fresh pair of underwear.

You inhale the soothing herbs of the tea and let the steam dampen your face. “I bet this isn’t what you pictured for our vacation.”

He chuckles. “You mean, you naked in bed with no one bothering us? Maybe there’s more cocktails and laughing until our stomachs hurt, but this is almost exactly how I imagined it.”

“I mean this—” You wave your injured wrist and wince at the twinge, and worry floods his features as he moves to your side.

“Careful,” he says softly, perching on the bed by your legs and taking your arm with care. He snatches the throw pillows at the foot of the bed and re-stacks them. “I’ll get the ice pack.”

He’s arranging it over your wrist when you say, almost shyly, “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“You’re welcome, honey.” He cups the side of your face.

“Can you do me a favour?”

“Anything, you know that.”

“Take care of yourself too.” You hand the mug to him, and he blows on it before taking a cautious sip. “I know you barely slept last night.”

He sighs. “I was keeping an eye on you.”

“I know, and I love you for it, but now you need rest.” You pat the space beside you. “After you wake up, I fully intend on taking you up on that promise to do anything I want to you.” You wiggle your eyebrows.

He chuckles and sets the mug on the bedside before crawling in. “I’m gonna regret saying that, aren’t I?”

“ _Regret_ isn’t what you’ll be feeling when I’m through with you, Evans.”

“Well then”—he kisses your cheek in quick succession—“I better nap my butt off.” He settles on his side, and as soon as his head meets the pillow, a yawn stretches his mouth. “G’night.”

You let him sleep through lunch, spending the quiet time on your phone with the TV on. You’re restless by the time he wakes around 4 PM and you beg him to go out. The ship tilts every now and then, but not enough that people are stumbling.

People notice him and approach for photos or a friendly chat, but Chris only smiles politely. “I’m so sorry, but I hope you understand I’m on vacation, and I’d like to focus on my girl.” Some notice your wrist and ask about it, either in genuine concern, curiosity or in hopes of extending their time with Chris, who handles it like a pro. “A little accident, please take care on the ship, okay? Have a great day, you guys.”

He steers you away from the mix of disappointed and understanding faces.

You nudge him. “Betcha some of them want to push me overboard.”

Chris chuckles, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Then I’d jump in right after you.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you’d like to send me prompts, join **[the discord server](https://discord.gg/8nbc6Rw)** (note: you’ll need to create an account). There’s also access to exclusive content, and if you’re also a writer, you may be interested in channels hosting fic discussions and tips, and a place to link your work for feedback.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback any time you read it, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” or “❤️” as extra kudos
>   * Reaction emojis and/or gifs
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)
> 
> This author replies to comments.


End file.
